Would They Remember?
by CakuRamen
Summary: It's Prussia's least favorite day of the year, and it's time to revisit old memories.


May I present a brief oneshot that I've had written for a while, only just found again because I was having random thoughts about Prussia and Fritz.  
The rating is just for a bit of language, and slightly depressive Prussia-angst.

Please enjoy!

* * *

Gilbert woke with an unexpectedly horrible headache that morning. Groaning, the albino propped himself up on his elbows and attempted roll out of bed, and wound up with his sheets tangled around his legs.

Grumbling irritably to himself, he stood and made his shaky way to the bathroom cupboard in search of an Advil or four. He hadn't even been drinking (much) last night, so what was the problem? He splashed some water on his face, hoping to clear his sleep-fogged brain enough to form a sensible conclusion, when he heard the distinctive heavy metal tone of his cell phone.

Gilbert tore back to his room and plowed through his pile of dirty laundry, searching for the elusive pair of jeans whose pockets still his phone, a pair that he'd thrown off in his exhausted state the night before. Just as he pulled uncovered the proper pair and pulled the phone out, the ringing stopped.

He glared at the offending red device and flicked the screen on. The little green icon that appeared told him that he had one missed call from a Francis Bonnefoy. He didn't even have time to feel annoyed at the blond for calling him at 8 in the morning when he should rightfully be sleeping, or confused as to why he was calling at all unless he'd woken up at some strange chick's house and needed a lift, before the phone rang again.

After briefly contemplating not answering (the bastard could get himself out of his own problems), Gilbert hit the talk button and replied,

"'Sup, Francis! What are you doing disturbing the awesome me so early in the morning?"

"_Gilbert? How are you, mon ami?"_

Strange, the Frenchman didn't sound panicked or drunk. Just oddly concerned.

"I'm fine! The awesome me is always fine! Except you would have woken me up, calling so early, had I not already been up."

He set the phone on speaker and tossed it onto his bed as he went rummaging for clothes. He didn't have any plans for today, so nothing too nice… he threw on some jeans and a black concert t-shirt he'd gotten at England's place a while ago.

"_Sorry, Gilbert. But are you sure you're okay? You always seem to wind up in some sort of mess on this day…"_

"How many times do I have to tell you? I'm all good!"

"_That's a relief. Call me if you need anything, okay?"_

"Whatever, France. I'm gonna have some awesome pancakes, I'm absolutely starving!"

"_À bientôt then, mon ami!"_

"France is being weird…" Prussia muttered to himself. "What was he talking abou— "

Just then, his eye caught the date displayed at the top of his phone's glowing screen.

February 25.

"Fuck."

_V~-~-~V_

Had he not already been dressed, he wouldn't have made the effort. Leaning against the wall, the albino allowed himself to slide down to the floor.

He chuckled softly to himself. He really was stupid, for an idiot like France to remember before he did that it was today.

The memories hadn't faded with time. Perhaps that was the curse of being a nation: having to remember the entire history of your country, from birth to death, always being burdened with the feelings of the people and the wounds of their battles. Nations were born with their people and died with their people, a natural cycle that had never been questioned, not even after the once-great Roman Empire had vanished, or the little blond boy who had tried so hard and still not made it.

If he couldn't live on, why did Gilbert?

The day remained in the back of his mind, preserved in all its horribly vivid clarity, along with the feeling of failing. Of failing his old man, of failing his people, of doing nothing but stepping aside as his land was partitioned off to other countries and his remains absorbed quietly into Germany.

v~v

_He wasn't used to the stiffness of his formal military uniform, with its various decorations and the ridiculous tassels that his bosses had always been fond of. You couldn't fight in this, heck, he couldn't even sit comfortably in his chair. Not that he especially cared about that at the moment, but it was a welcome distraction from what was about to take place._

_The Allied Control Council… what a joke. A bunch of bastards they were, their bosses looking stuffed-up and important in the front of the meeting room, just because they'd won the most recent of all the wars he'd lived through. Sure, it had been a horrible one, the worst he could remember. He was sure the scars would never go away._

_But apparently, these people were willing to make sure they disappeared, and send him along with them._

_He saw the others, sitting behind their respective bosses: America, England, Russia (that two-faced bastard), China, and France (whose betrayal hurt the most). Of course, he knew them all by name, knew their annoying habits and their odd quirks, had laughed with and teased them all at some point during their history together. But somehow, none of that seemed to matter anymore, as he watched their expressionless faces from his seat among his highest officials._

_He tuned out most of the meeting. Not because he was uninterested, but because he couldn't bear to hear the words when they came out of some lawmaker's mouth. Some official from the winning side, not any of his people. He was too beaten and bruised to be allowed an opinion. Despite his resolve to ignore them, the words made their way through at the sound of "Law #46."_

"_I hereby announce…" At least they had the decency to have someone speaking German up there now. Even if he was an Allied officer._

"…_as of today, February 25, 1947…" An inauspicious date if there ever was one. Nothing particularly special. Would anyone remember it when he was gone as the day he left?_

"_Königreich Preu__ßen…" He wasn't going to cry. Not in front of his people, not when they needed him to be strong in his last moments, if only to say goodbye. Even as his eyes teared up, he swore he wasn't going to cry._

"…_is officially dissolved."_

_No matter what he had told himself, he felt a stray tear slide silently down his cheeks from eyes that threatened to overflow. Felt the mixture of distraught and sympathetic glances from all sides as his officials looked to him, the representation of their country that no longer was. Felt in particular the other Nations' eyes on him from the front of the room as they watched him break._

v~v

The nation once known as the Kingdom of Prussia often wondered if the worst part hadn't been the meeting at all, but what had come after. He had avoided everyone for weeks, even his brother, who had even more scars that he. He'd shifted between laying in bed in a listless haze, to drinking himself into a no-longer-remembered stupor, to angrily destroying everything in his house. Days had passed, days of anxious waiting and dreading, of sinking further into a bleak depression, of preparing for the day he was sure to disappear just like Holy Rome had done centuries ago.

But that day hadn't come, and his confusion had mounted until Ludwig had visited, his bandages slightly fewer in number than when Gilbert had last seen him, and told him that the remainder of his lands had been made into East Germany. It had been an unexpected turn of events, and Gilbert had his suspicions that Ludwig had a hand in that decision. The influence of a Nation could be powerful indeed.

So Ludwig, his once-adorable and now far-stronger-than-he younger brother became West, while he was East (though Ludwig never called him that). It was only after that that Prussia had been able to face the others again, albeit as merely a remnant of what he'd been before.

v~v

_He decided to visit Spain first. The poor tomato man had been too broke to be involved in the war, and was thus (in Prussia's still-muddled brain) the only one who was blameless._

_Standing on the doorstep of the other's dilapidated house, Gilbert rang the doorbell. When no immediate response came, he moved to knock, but the door suddenly swung open._

_Green eyes opened wide as they met crimson. "P-Prussia?"_

_Gilbert winced, but put on a smile. It wouldn't do for Antonio to see him being un-awesome. "Yo, Spain! How are you?"_

"_B-but… aren't you… dissolved?"_

_Fighting back another wince, Gilbert continued to grin. "I'm representing East Germany now. Apparently, there are enough people out there who still consider themselves part of the awesome Kingdom of Prussia!"_

_Antonio smiled back, some of the shock and confusion fading from his eyes, though he still was looking at Gilbert as though he'd disappear at any moment. "That's great! Come on in, I just made some churros!"_

_Sitting around Antonio's table and laughing had been the most comfortable thing Gilbert had done in ages. It was almost like old times, until Spain brought up France._

"_He feels really bad, you know," he said somberly. "He feels like this whole mess is partly his fault."_

"_He should," Gilbert retorted snappishly. "It is."_

"_But you know how bosses are," Antonio said. "We often have to fight the ones we love because our bosses say so." He sighed, giving Prussia a look that spoke of sympathy for him and his own, now thankfully dead, boss. "I suppose if they left it to us though, we'd either never fight anyone or fight all the time… and we'd have really strange alliances."_

_Gilbert laughed, the thought of England and France eternally at war and Poland running around trying to make everyone's capital Warsaw while Hong Kong defected and became best friends with Korea popping into his head. But come to think of it, England and France had been on the same side for once, hadn't they?_

"_Again, all their bosses' fault," Antonio said when he voiced this. "Those two never will really get along!"_

_Silence fell again around the pair._

"_Hey, Antonio?"_

"_Yeah, Gilbert?"_

"_Do you think I'll disappear some day?"_

_Spain laughed uncomfortably. "We all do some day, I suppose. Eventually, we'll all step aside and hand our lands over to some young Nation. It's inevitable, I think."_

"_What about Romano? He never disappeared, even when the Italies united."_

_The other stiffened. "I've wondered about that," Spain said quietly, "but I think everyone would be very sad if Lovi left, so he stayed."_

"_Does that mean it's the same for me? Do you think people would be sad if I vanished?" People like France? his brain supplied. What about Austria, Hungary, Poland, and Lithuania? All those he'd befriended and fought over and over again? _

_Spain met his eyes at last. "Of course they would, Gilbert. Even if they would never say it, they'd all certainly cry for you."_

v~v

It didn't take long for Gilbert to begin his quest for beer that morning. He actually managed to hold out an entire half-hour, because even he thought 8 o'clock was a bit early to drink. But 9 was much better.

Standing in front of his refrigerator, he wondered if he had enough for at least a few hours of solid drinking, and came up lacking. Why, today of all days was his beer stash low? No matter, he reached in and popped one open anyway, downing most of it in one go.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

Muttering angrily at whoever dared intrude on his soon-to-begin drinking binge, Gilbert made his way to the door, only to find himself looking up into the cerulean blue eyes of his blond younger brother.

"Hey, West! What're you doing here?"

Ludwig eyed him warily. "How many have you had, bruder?" he asked, looking pointedly at the beer in his hand.

"This is the first," Gilbert replied. Ludwig was visibly relieved.

"Good, because I hate taking you places when you're drunk. You always are embarrassing me."

"Taking me places? Wait, are we going somewhere, West?"

"Yes," Ludwig replied, grabbing Gilbert's arm, "we're going somewhere, and we're leaving now."

Despite Gilbert's protests, Ludwig was much stronger than him, and he soon found himself locked in the back seat of his brother's silver Volkswagen, glaring as he backed out of the driveway.

_V~-~-~V_

Gilbert stared gloomily out the window at the German countryside flying by. It was amazing how nowadays it only took a few hours in a car to cross his entire empire, where once it would have taken weeks on horseback. Despite the rest of the world's rapid modernization, Gilbert had been around for a long time, and most of his favorite memories took place before the grand series of events they liked to call the Industrial Revolution.

As he watched, the car passed by a road sign for Berlin.

"Why are we going to the capital, West? Do you have a meeting or something?" _And why did you drag me along?_ he wanted to add, but resisted the urge to.

"We're not going to Berlin."

Now Gilbert was rather confused. What else was there in the area aside from Berlin that would hold enough relevance to make West drag him all the way out here _today?_

Suddenly, Ludwig turned off the highway, making his way to someplace just outside Berlin. Gilbert was wracking his brain for such a place when the surroundings began to look familiar.

"Wait… West, are we in _Potsdam?_"

"Yes."

Gilbert's breath hitched. Potsdam was where his old man had his summer palace, and a sinking feeling told him that's where West was taking him.

His voice cracked. "Why?"

"They've maintained Sanssouci, you know. Even after all these years. It's one of this part of the country's main tourist attractions." Gilbert swallowed uncomfortably, the idea of commoners flooding _his_ king's beautiful house bothering him more than it should have.

"But today," Ludwig continued, "I've asked them to close it to the public."

The Volkswagen slowed as the walls of the summer palace came into view. The gates, Gilbert thought faintly, were the same as ever. Not even a bit rusted.

A German guard came to the window, presumably to inform Ludwig that the palace was closed, but Ludwig just flashed an ID badge and the guard stepped aside. Glancing back, Gilbert saw that the guard was watching the car, a faint look of amazement on his face.

"Does he know?"

"Does he know what?" Ludwig replied.

"Does he know he just met Germany?"

"I think so."

_V~-~-~V_

The palace itself was the same as Gilbert remembered it. The immense fountain with the marble statues, the flights of stairs between the hedgerows leading up to that incredibly ostentatious dome, now a shade of pale green, and golden exterior hadn't changed since his old man had been living there.

Gilbert didn't even hear what Ludwig was saying as he got out of the car, didn't hear the guard's reply, didn't even feel the cold February air or the weight of the jacket Ludwig placed over his shoulders. But he did hear the sound of a familiar voice at his side.

"_Gilbert. Are you listening?"_

_The pair walked up the terraced flights of stairs, one dressed in a familiar black-and-white tunic and boots, the other in all the finery demanded of a Prussian king. There were guards up and down, all watching as their respected leader spoke conversationally with a strange young man with silver hair._

"_Do you really plan on living here, Fritz?" the albino asked, causing the guards within earshot to start; no one addressed a king so casually, by his first name, and a nickname at that!_

"_I certainly do. It's in a lovely part of the country, and will only be for the warmer months anyway, when I can better enjoy the gardens."_

_The boy shook his head, laughing. "I'll never understand how you became _my_ king with such a pansy-ass love for flowers! You'll wind up just like Netherlands!"_

"_As they say, a crown is merely a hat that lets the rain in."_

"_Don't be a wise-ass. You know you said that!"_

"_Am I not free to quote myself?"_

"_You're the king, you can do whatever the hell you want!"_

"_That's true. My people are to say what they please, and—"_

"—_you're to do what you please, yeah, yeah, you've said that before, Fritz! Are you getting old?"_

_The man laughed. "Never as old as you, Gilbert."_

"_Ah, but the awesome me looks way younger!"_

"_You haven't changed since the day I met you. And neither," he said, almost as an afterthought, "has the strange bird that's always on your head."_

"_Of course! Me and Gilbird will always be awesome no matter how long I live!"_

_Frederick the Great smiled faintly. "And I hope that's a long time indeed."_

"Old man…"

The stone slab in the ground was all that remained of his mentor, the greatest of his kings. He'd always wanted to be buried in the yard of the house he'd loved most, Gilbert recalled, but his will had been disregarded for years. Now that Germany was peaceful, his wish was fulfilled.

Kneeling down, Gilbert was glad Ludwig had had the tact to say he was going to tour the grounds for a bit, leaving him alone in front of the grave.

"Sorry for not coming sooner, Fritz," Gilbert whispered. For the first time all day, he felt the chill of the February weather as his breath evaporated in clouds, and took a moment to be grateful for his brother's foresight as he pulled the jacket closer about him. "Did you know that Prussia was gone? ...It happened years ago, so you probably did." He laughed, a coarse, choking sound.

"I don't have a population anymore. I don't get all those wounds you always worried about. Those are West's problem now. Is that good or bad?"

Gilbert took a deep breath. "I've gotten used to it, I guess. Do you know how empty a Nation feels without people? It's like, all your life you've had a cloud of company following you, when suddenly it's gone, and it's just you. An incomplete you…"

"But I don't have to listen to any stuck-up, self-important bosses anymore!" he said, half-grinning at the slab of stone in the ground, not mentioning that he played second fiddle to Ludwig for his boss instead.

"And Gilbird's still around, but he doesn't do well with the cold, so he stayed in the car." He rolled back on his heels to a squat.

"I hope you're still doing well, wherever you are. I wound up being _way_ older than you, and the awesome me still looks the same!"

Standing, he said, "You'd probably say not to dwell too much on the past and move on, right?"

_What is the good of experience if you do not reflect?_

Gilbert smiled as the words of his favorite king came to his mind with ease, full of the same half-smiling, quiet inflections that Fritz always had liked to put on his speech when he felt like he was imparting sage advice. And he did it fairly often, as a young man quoting the writings of Voltaire and French philosophers (in French, much to Gilbert's chagrin) and as an old recluse quoting himself more often than not.

"True," he whispered, agreeing, as he usually did, with whatever the old man said. "I've got a bit too much of that, though."

* * *

I hope you got some enjoyment out of reading that. I had a lot of fun writing Prussia. He's someone I haven't gotten a chance to write a lot about before, even though he is one of my favorite characters.

On February 25th, 1947, Prussia was officially dissolved. Most of his territory went to Poland and the surrounding countries, and what remained became East Germany. I don't pretend to have an explanation for why Prussia is still around, though Spain's fits his situation. I figure that the others would just he rather not disappear, and there are enough people with Prussian heritage to make him worthwhile. Because really, nobody traces their lineage back to the Romans, and nobody calls themselves a descendant of the inhabitants of the Holy Roman Empire. (What would you even call them, anyway? HRE-ese?)

Thank you for reading, and if you have the time, don't hesitate to tell me what you thought in a comment or review!


End file.
